


Spawning Season

by Zanne



Series: John Winchester/Illyria 'verse [14]
Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possibly the most important conversation a couple could have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spawning Season

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to hakirby for beta-ing! Kripke owns John and Whedon owns Illyria, though she'd kick ass before admitting to it.

“I wish to try something unusual,” Illyria stated as she stood before him, her pale blue-hued skin startling against the backdrop of the dark bedspread behind her.

Still foggy with lust and agreeable to anything as long as she let him inside her _very_ soon, John nodded, his smoldering eyes heavy lidded as he leaned in to draw his lips along her sharp collarbone, following the tantalizing blue shading that adorned her skin. “Anything, m’dear. You have but to ask.”

“Good,” Fred drawled, sliding her arms around his neck. “Then continue.”

John’s lips felt the subtle difference in the texture of her skin before the slight Texan twang hit his ears.

“Wha-?” he sputtered, stepping back in confusion, his interest – and other things – suddenly flagging.

“I want you to have sex with me,” Fred demanded, stepping towards him as he backpedaled to keep a steady distance.

Breaking his unspoken rule, he addressed her by her true name, rather than the one of her current form. “Illyria,” he began, holding up his hands to hold her off. “You know I can’t.”

“Why?” Fred insisted, hands on hips, managing to look intimidating despite her nudity. “You certainly look like you are capable,” she said, indicating his semi-swollen cock hanging heavily between his legs. “You’ll have fun, I promise!”

John sighed, dropping his eyes, flushing slightly as he admitted, “I can’t help it! I’m a one woman fella. I prefer the real you, Illyria – not you pretending to be someone you’re not.”

Fred’s arm snapped out with Illyria’s swiftness, gripping his arm to hold him in place. “Please,” Fred asked, her brown eyes going soft. John’s resistance began to crumble; he could never say no to her, not when it came to sex, at least – it was just the first time she had asked for _this_. As Fred stepped closer and pressed her lips to his, touching him in the ways she knew he liked, John’s body responded despite his mental protests. Fred drew him towards the bed, drawing him on top of her as they fell onto the comforter.

John’s mind kept insisting the taste of her was somehow wrong, but everything felt so close to real that he kept wondering if he were dreaming – it wasn’t that he hadn’t had dreams like these before, but he always woke up to revel in the marvel that was Illyria and it was all he ever needed…or wanted.

As Fred moved beneath him to wrap her legs around his hips, he paused, stilling her with a firm grip on each thigh as his mind snapped back into reality.

“Roll over,” John growled, knowing he would be unable to continue if he were staring Fred in the eyes, and she silently complied, settling on her belly as he knelt behind her. Yanking her hips up, John ran his hand down the faintly tan skin of Fred’s back, sliding his cock into her tight heat before closing his eyes and imagining slightly cooler skin and how the blue sprinkled softly down Illyria’s spine, spreading into a pale star-shaped fan over the swell of her buttocks.

John felt the difference of her soft hips denting under the pressure of his fingers as he held her in place, trying to recall the firmer resilience he was used to as he slammed more quickly into her, attempting to mask his other senses by overwhelming them with the feeling of her inner walls gripping his dick. He tilted his head back, eyes still closed, forcing himself to focus on just that sensation, wanting to fulfill her seemingly simple request.

With a muffled groan of restraint, John reigned himself in, his more gentlemanly side demanding Illyria…no, Fred…enjoy herself despite the slight weirdness of the situation that made him inclined to rush things. He plastered himself to her back, scooping her body against his as he sat upright, a tight arm around her waist to pin her in place as he rolled his hips against her. His free hand reached down between her legs to teasingly explore her damp folds. John buried his face in the soft silk of her hair, eyes still tightly closed as he assaulted her senses from all sides, his breath coming in sharp gasps at the feel of her body around his. He moaned against her skin, digging his teeth into the arch where the navy hue would have paled to a soft azure on the column of her throat.

John imagined he could taste the blue on his tongue.

With this primal sign of dominance, something that Illyria had always understood and responded to most fervently – though usually John was on the receiving end - Fred’s orgasm rolled through her, dragging Illyria out of hiding. John felt the sudden shift around his cock and under his hands, his eyes popping open as blue spilled over her skin and hair, the feel of her suddenly less pliant, but far more familiar. Unable to control his response to Illyria’s recognizable touch, he shoved in as deeply as he could, molding his hips to her curves as he rose onto his knees on the bed, spilling inside her with a soft growl of relief.

Collapsing with a gasping sigh, he rolled to the side, pulling Illyria back solidly against his chest as he nuzzled her hair, silently thankful for the coarse blue strands intermixed with the soft brown tresses.

“I feel like I just cheated on you with your twin sister,” he murmured in her ear, guilt edging into his post-orgasmic haze. Illyria patted his hand soothingly, remaining unusually silent. “Why the sudden role-playing kink?” he asked curiously, leaning further over her shoulder to touch his cheek to hers.

“You would know if it had worked,” she replied obliquely.

“That sounds a bit ominous,” John replied, nestling closer before his eyes widened and he asked breathlessly, “Dear God, what century is this?” He rolled over, falling out of bed as he grabbed for his watch. “You’re ovulating again – or whatever it is you demons call it – aren’t you?!” John slapped his hand over his face before peering over the edge of the bed with a rueful, “We were supposed to talk about this first, Illyria.”

Illyria refused to look remorseful. “I mentioned tentacles _once_ and you locked yourself in the bathroom for a week,” she replied. “We missed the last cycle.”

John coughed into his hand, still safely on the floor. “Speaking of tentacles, how many might our child have?”

“I said tentacles were unlikely,” Illyria reminded him.

“Unlikely, but not _impossible_ ,” John pointed out.    
   
“No need for concern,” she said, curling up under the blankets and closing her eyes. “It is over for approximately the next three hundred years.” She snorted, “Back when I was in full power and the need for propagation became an overwhelming biological compulsion, a piece lost in battle would grow to full-size within the span of minutes and that was that. The mortal way seems too inefficient to be successful.”

John rested his chin on the bed, still nervous about letting any of his reproductive bits near Illyria at this point in time. “So that’s why you needed to be Fred?”

“It was not working as Illyria,” she told him. “It has never taken so long before. I thought perhaps I needed to look human for this shell to successfully conceive. You see, while Illyria, the uterus does no-.”

“I don’t want to know,” John cut her off. “I really, _really_ do not want to know this.” John crept cautiously into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her still form. “I’m sorry for freaking out,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “We’ll try really hard next time, all right?”

Illyria smirked, a tinge of humor coloring her tone. “Even with the threat of tentacles?”

“Yes,” John agreed, snuggling against her. “If it’s as pretty as its mother, everything will be fine.”  
 


End file.
